


Catch Me If You Can

by Chimie_Chat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Damian, Football, M/M, Quarterback Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimie_Chat/pseuds/Chimie_Chat
Summary: Hey Folks!!! So this fic is based off some fan art I found on tumblr a while back. Check it out, and make sure to look through the artist's other works, because they have so quality stuff. Enjoy!http://une1st.tumblr.com/post/178880810437/can-you-draw-a-story-in-the-future-with-damian-and





	Catch Me If You Can

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Folks!!! So this fic is based off some fan art I found on tumblr a while back. Check it out, and make sure to look through the artist's other works, because they have so quality stuff. Enjoy!
> 
> <http://une1st.tumblr.com/post/178880810437/can-you-draw-a-story-in-the-future-with-damian-and>

A shrill whistle rang over the practice field, easily being heard over the sound of rock music blasting from a set of speakers. 

“Come on boys! Let me see that hustle!” The coach would have been easily identifiable, even without the booming voice. He was a giant man, easily six foot five, maybe more, with muscles straining against muted gray sweats. He was the only one standing on the sidelines, while the Metropolis City University football team practiced. “You best wake up and get your asses in gear or you’ll be running laps for the rest of the day!”

“Yes Coach!” The call came unanimously from the team as they worked through a series of warm up drills. Practice had only just started; earlier than normal, but they had their big Homecoming game tonight. This was their last chance to get a little extra training in. 

The team finished their warm up, the coach stepping into the center of the field. 

“Alright boy, take a knee.” The herd of college kids formed a semicircle around theman. His eyes surveyed his team  before landing on one member in particular. “Kent. Get your butt up here.”

“Sir, yes sir.” The guy in question stood up from amongst the team with a cocky grin on his face: Jon Kent. At twenty years old, he wasn’t the youngest person to ever make team captain, but he was still only a junior; a fact which had originally left a bad taste in the mouths of some of the seniors. Still, no one could deny that he’d earned this title, captain was elected by majority vote after all. But it was early in the season. This was his first big game to prove himself in. 

He was tall by most standards, short by football’s, at six foot one. But more importantly, he was built almost entirely of lean muscle. His shoulders were broad, half inherited from his father, half the result of doing farm work his whole life. Unlike a lot of the members of the team, who looked like they snorted protein powder and skipped leg day regularly, Jon’s muscle mass was evenly distributed, giving him a conventionally fit, and attractive build. 

He wiped the sweat on his hairline with the sleeve of his practice jersey. A clip board was handed over to him. It contained notes about each player on their team, as well as on their opponents.

“Alright folks,” He cleared his throat. “As you know, we’re going against Gotham tonight. Coach Stone can’t be trusted to call the shots ‘cause it’s his alma mater, so I’ll be taking over instead.” There was some collective snickering amongst the team. It was a running joke to five their coach a hard time for having gone to their biggest rival school. “So, here’s how it’s going to go.”

Jon started listing off the positions for roughly half of the team, mostly upperclassmen who were guaranteed a little spotlight in the homecoming game. There was a promise to all the new freshies and returning sophomores that if they proved themselves during training, they could get a little action too.

“Alright boys.” Coach Stone piped back in once Jon was done. “Take five for water, then we’re back to it.”

The members of the team split off back to their bags. Jon had left his over on the one long metal bench that stood at the bottom of the hill leading that lead to the field. As he walked up to it, he was able to look around and notice the small crowd of people interspured all over the knoll. 

It wasn’t uncommon for other MU students to sit around and watch various athletic teams work out below. It was a nice place to hang out; sunny, but with a few trees for shade, and easy walking distance to one dining hall, the main gym, two libraries, and some of the larger academic buildings. 

Seeing all these other students out here brought a smile to his face. He liked feeling like he was part of a community.

“Yo Kent, think fast!”

Jon’s head snapped up just in time to see a football being launched right at his head. God dammit. He ran back a few steps, thanking every fiber of his body that his reaction time was pretty high quality. Jon was able to cover enough distance that rather than being smacked in the head, the ball slammed his right in the chest. Jon wrapped his hands around the ball, pulling it in and keeping it close with his forearms. Nice. Ball: Caught. Receive: Perfect… Except… As he let his body follow the momentum, Jon felt the back of his ankle knock against something, and he toppled backwards.

“And down I go.” The exclamation was involuntary as he hit the ground with a thud. His recovery period was quick. The man sat up just in time to see one of his teammates cackling at Jon’s expense. “What the hell Batson?”

“Sorry man.” That boy was not sorry. Billy had been a close friend of Jon’s for years, but he could be a bit of a joker. “Also, uh, sorry!” 

Jon scrunched his eyebrows at the second apology, noting that it definitely wasn’t for him. That was about when Jon became aware of the weird lump under his leg.

A backpack.

Shit.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry.” Jon scrambled to his feet, brushing any grass or dirt off his sweatpants. He was careful for the disrupt the bag anymore than he already had. 

“You should be.” The lower register voice made Jon unintentionally wince -- Please don’t start a fight right now -- He look at the person belonging to the backpack. 

A guy sat on top of jacket, as if he were using it as a picnic blanket of sorts. He wore a rather comfortable looking green sweater, despite it being a nice, seventy six degree day. As Jon’s eyes traced over the figure under the sweater, taking note of how naturally tanned the guy’s skin was, leading up to the mans face and -- Oh… Oh that was a death glare if he’d ever seen one.

It was then that Jon realized he was also stepping on something, well, some _ things _ to be exact. He took a step back and kneeled to pick up an assortment of what he was pretty sure were charcoal pencils. “Um… here.” He handed them to the guy.

This guy stared at Jon for a moment before reaching out with one color-covered hand, palm out flat. Jon dropped the pencils in the hand, being careful not to get any of whatever that ink was on his own hands. He watched as the individual organized the charcoal next to a box of what looked like oil pastels. Well, that explained the color.

“Sorry again.” Jon felt kinda sheepish. “It won’t happen again. I’ll yell at the guy who threw the ball, and uh… yell at myself for falling.” 

The fellow sighed. “I didn’t think I’d be in the way when I sat here.” 

“You’re not! I promise this was a one time fluke.”

Hazel eyes seemed to study Jon’s face to see if he was really sincere or not. “I’ll take your word for it.” The man then picked up a sketch book that had been resting on the grass next to him, and leaned it carefully against his knees. 

Suddenly, something clicked in Jon’s head. “Oh! You’re that dude who’s always drawing here!” 

“Excuse me?” The guy rose an eyebrow, and for some reason Jon suddenly felt a bit flustered.

“No I mean,” He took a step back, trying to actually think before he spoke. “I just see you here a lot. Like, during practice I’ll look and and it’s like,  _ boom _ , you’re there.”

The other male let out a sigh, turning his attention away from the moronic quarterback, and back to his artwork. “I suppose I’m here often.”

“You are.” Yeah that sounds about right Kent. Tell the guy exactly how often he’s here.  _ That’s _ just a fantastic idea. “I mean, well, I notice that you are.” There was an awkward bit of silence, where this other student was probably just trying to ignore Jon’s presence on that hill. Rightfully so. He was definitely just bothering the guy. “So… Do you always draw the team?”

“No.” The answer was short and simple, but one glance upward must have allowed the man to see just how painfully curious Jon was. “Sometimes I draw what’s in front of me, sometimes I draw based on assignments, sometimes I just draw whatever comes to mind first.”

“That’s so cool.” He peaked over the edge of the sketchbook once more to get a look at the work in progress. “You’re really good.”

“Thank you.”

Jon was about to open his big mouth all over again, probably to make another dumb comment, when his coach’s voice suddenly boomed over the whole field. “Kent! Stop flirting and get back over here!”

“Yes Coach!” Jon called back over his shoulder. “Uh… I’ll catch you later?”

“Perhaps.” The artist shrugged. “Goodbye,  _ Kent _ .”

For some reason, that just brought a grin to the junior’s face. “It’s Jon, actually. Kent’s my last name.”

“Alright then. Goodbye, Jon.”

“Can’t I get your name first?”

The man looked up from his work with a sigh, making eye contact with the football player once more. “Damian.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Practice ended rather uneventfully, with the usual post-training pre-game huddle Coach Stone always made them do. Supposedly it boasted moral until the more official motivational speech in the locker room, but Jon didn’t know enough about psychology to say one way or another. The members of the team started branching off, each going back to their bags to collect their things and head out. As Jon was heading back to his own bag, he looked up and noticed that the artist from before was starting to pack up his things as well.

“Hey!” Jon ran over to Damian, before the other was fully packed up. “Wait a sec.”

Damian didn’t slow as he put placed a piece of wax paper between the pages in his sketchbook, and closed it. “What do you want?”

“Are you going to the game tonight?” Jon awkwardly adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder.

Damian looked him over, then, he carefully put the sketchbook in his messenger bag. “I doubt it.”

There was a very good change that Jon looked like a kicked puppy. A pout grew on his face. Childish? Maybe. But if it works, it works. “Why not?”

The art student shrugged. “I never purchased a ticket. Besides, I’m not so interested in sports events.”

“I can get you a ticket.” H flashed a grin. “And you could just come and draw or something?”

That got a puzzled look in response. “You want me to come to your game, and  _ not _ watch it?”

The quarterback shifted, rocking back onto his heels, then to his toes. “Why not? Can’t a guy want to see a pretty face in the crowd?” He studied the expression on Damian’s face, noticing the change from confusion, to what he dared to call fluster.

“How--” Damian coughed into his hand. “How will I get the ticket?”

The smile on Jon’s face would have split his head in two. “I’ll leave it at Will Call for you.”


End file.
